Funny. He didn’t look like a man who thought he’d won. He looked... hollowed out. Pale and expressionless, arranged stiffly upright on the couch, eyes aimed in her direction but empty. Like those unsettling Victorian photographs of beloved dead family members she’d once seen at a museum exhibit.
He was obviously hurting too, and she hated—hated—seeing him that way. But the wound was self-inflicted, easing his pain was no longer either her responsibility or her privilege, and his company in misery was the coldest comfort imaginable.
She needed to go.
The car wouldn’t arrive for a while yet, but she couldn’t guarantee her composure if she stayed any longer. She’d wait in the lobby, or—better yet, given the groups of fans likely still congregating in that area—just outside the hotel, behind a convenient potted plant.
Her soft knitted wrap would help keep her warm on the plane, so she looped it around her neck before donning oversized sunglasses.
It was a futile gesture. If she cried, anyone watching would notice her blotting her nose with all those tissues, and her height and build and hair were likely unmistakable to fans even without her eyes visible. But she could at leasttryto preserve her anonymity.
A good faith effort, Americans called it.
She’d always liked that phrase.
In her opinion, she’d put forth a good faith effort with Peter too, although he’d probably disagree. But his opinion shouldn’t matter to her anymore, right?
She slung her purse over her shoulder. Her suitcase handle telescoped smoothly, and the bag trailed behind her to the door without a hitch.
Her breath, however, did hitch. Once, twice, a third time, as she looked back over her shoulder and prepared to say farewell to the man she’d loved far too long, far too much.
In the end, she couldn’t say it. She couldn’t say anything. If she opened her mouth, a sob would emerge, and if she waited any longer, her tears would spill beneath her sunglasses.
So she left their hotel room without a word. Again. Just like their first night together.
But this time, his eyes were open.
He watched her go.
Interstitial
Gods of the Gates: Season 6, Ep. 9
EXT. CASTAWAY ISLAND – DAY
The clouds lie heavy and dark over the island, and the water is choppy, the waves becoming more violent by the minute. CYPRIAN and CASSIA stand by the shore, heartbroken, each angry and terrified for their own reasons. They are still rumpled from their lovemaking. Cyprian drags the curragh from its shelter, looking despairingly at its frail frame and thin covering.
CASSIA
I won’t go. I won’t leave you.
CYPRIAN
You heard the roar of the undead. Our gate to Tartarus has been breached, and no human will survive the forthcoming carnage.Go, Cassia.
Cassia, tears in her eyes, stubbornly refuses to even look at the curragh.
CASSIA
I won’t let you die alone. Iloveyou, Cyprian.
She grips his tunic and shakes him. He doesn’t move, only covers her hands with his.
CYPRIAN
If you do, if you love me, you will climb into that boat and leave. Even now, you could be carrying our child.Mychild. My blood. My legacy in the world ofthe living, and the only proof of our devotion that will still exist after this day.
CASSIA